


Lawful Unions

by Clocketpatch



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: F/M, Gen, Trope Bingo Amnesty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vila is sent to rescue a rebel leader under house arrest. He isn't pleased with the mission. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vila felt exceedingly conspicuous.

Everything on Trimony was grey: the paving slabs, the blocky architecture, the thick, smoggy air. The locals went about their businesses in pairs, all of them wearing charcoal overalls with translucent latex jackets. When Villa went by they'd stop whatever they were doing to stare at him. Their eyes were dark and judging, he thought. None of them spoke. They just stared.

"Is it my coat? What's wrong with a bit of colour? You could use some around here."

They didn't reply. It was unnerving. Better than being shot at, or captured, or tortured, or anything unpleasant like that – obviously – but Vila's hands were shaking. You couldn't tell what they wanted, and so you didn't know if any of those unpleasant things were about to happen.

The bright blue and yellow chevrons running down the front of his poncho had seemed like a good idea back in the Wardrobe Room. Nice and cheery. Here there were like great big, glowing arrows shouting: "Look at me! I don't belong!"

"Avon," Vila whispered into his bracelet, "Avon, come in. I don't like it down here. It's creepy. Can I come back on board?"

"You may – when you've completed the mission."

If only anyone else could've been on teleport duty, or better yet, if anyone else could have been saddled with this job. But Blake and Jenna were down on the other side of the planet meeting with a contact, and Cally was doing _something_ with incense in her cabin that she said couldn't be interrupted. Some Auron thing that none of them understood, and Vila would normally be fine with that, freedom of worship or whatever it was it had got Blake banging on about, except it meant that he'd been chosen to bring a bracelet to some rebel leader under house arrest here in the capital.

Avon had flat-out refused, and then argued that a thief's skills would be better for the mission anyway, because there might, _might_ be locked doors involved. And didn't Vila enjoy utilizing his talents productively?

He'd looked so smug when he said that. All because Vila had refused to pick Blake's lock for him. Which Vila stood by: _Liberator_ locks were dead boring, and Avon _could_ do it himself. Vila refused to be anyone's fall man.

Except now he was stuck wandering around uselessly on this horrible planet.

"Avon, it's starting to rain, and everyone keeps staring at me. Are you even there? Avon…"

"Be quiet," Avon said, "you're clogging the channels."

"But I'm getting wet."

"Then go inside."

"Easy for you to say," Vila said to no one in particular. "And what are you staring at?" he addressed to yet another pair of locals. They stared at him wordlessly. Vila shuddered and hunkered down into his poncho to check the map Blake had scribbled out for him.

It was utterly useless. The ink was running and he wasn't even certain he was holding it right way up. Vila huffed and continued shuffling his way along the street.

As night fell, coloured lights started flickering on. They glowed weirdly through the haze of the fog and the rain. More and more couples appeared outside, and vehicular traffic, which had been light when Vila had first materialized, became increasingly heavy.

Long, sleek hover-transits shot by, ripping up curtains of spray when they hit puddles. Vila was quickly drenched. The locals all continued to look impeccable, despite repeated soakings. It wasn't fair.

"Look," Vila said, coming up to one couple who were standing in front of what seemed to be a restaurant. Tingling strains of music and the tangy smells of dill, vinegar, and fish came from within. "I don't know what everyone's problem is, but I'm harmless, completely and absolutely, and I'm also very lost, and I don't know if you would be able to help, but…"

The couple clasped hands and edged away from Vila. Their eyes were wide. Vila thrust Blake's badly drawn map at them.

"I'm just trying to get to this address. It's a hotel for off-worlders."

The couple broke eye contact from Vila for a moment to look at each other. The man moved his mouth. The woman shrugged. He nodded. She turned back to Vila and took the map in a way that made it excessively obvious she was avoiding skin-to-skin contact.

"I'm not contagious," Vila said. He paused. "Or maybe I am? Is there a plague down here I don't know about? Is that why everyone is acting so strangely? That would be just like them back on the ship to send me down into the middle of a quarantine without telling. 'Oh Vila, just this one little task, for us, please.' I hate bugs. I…"

The couple exchanged another look and shrug. The man made a gesture that could be translated as, "he's mad," in any language.

"Here," the woman said, handing back the map. Her finger stabbed at an indistinct blur on the paper, then lifted. She pointed at a building half a block away. The street sloped up towards it and there were small green globes strung across its entrance way. "There."

Vila swallowed. "Thank you, very courteous of you. I'll be off now."

"Good luck," said the man. He squeezed the woman's hand. "Don't go out alone again."

"An off-worlder wouldn't know," said the woman.

"It must be bad etiquette anywhere," said the man.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," said Vila. "Sorry about that, whatever it is. Bye."

He scampered over to the building the woman had indicated as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run. The pavement was getting slick from the rain and wouldn't it be just the topper on everything if he were to slip on it and get run over by one of the hover-transits? He could feel the eyes of the couple boring into his back as he went, but never mind them.

He looked down at the map again, and yes, this was right. He didn't like having to walk right in through the main entrance, but he could hardly sneak in around the back with everyone on the street staring at him.

The front doors were glass and slid back with a faint swick-swick sound as he approached. Vila stepped inside into a large lobby area. The ceiling was oppressively low. Blake's curls would have been squeezed, but Vila was fine, if unnerved. It was brightly lit and white plastic pots filled with artificial greenery were scattered about haphazardly. Vila could hear, but couldn't see, running water.

More importantly, he couldn't see any guards. Possibly they were keeping their watch at the target's room and nowhere else. Or maybe it was a trap. Vila didn't like it.

He made his way to the blue-grey perplex desk which was clearly the reception. Two men stood behind it. One dressed in a white suit, the other in an identical black suit. They looked at Vila incredulously.

"Hello," Vila said, smiling big and cheery to set the men at ease. "I'm here to see the guest in room 104."

"That's a relief," said the man in white.

"It was getting to be unnatural," said the one in black.

"Though I'm not surprised at the lack of volunteers," said the one in white.

The man in black rummaged under the desk and came up with a set of key cards on a ring.

"You must be braver than you look," he said, going through them one by one.

"No, actually, quite frankly I am completely terrified, and nothing you're saying is doing much to reassure me."

The man in white guffawed. Vila flinched at the noise. The man in black leaned further over the desk and made a sort of wistful grimace. "It is better than the alternative, however, that you must agree?"

"If you say so," Vila said.

"Here you are then," said the man in black, finally selecting a card from the set. "Stairs are back that a way. And good luck."

"Little chance of that," Vila said. He took the keys and headed in the direction indicated. The stairs were made of the same lividus perplex as the desk and surrounded by a dense stand of fake palm trees. At least, Vila thought they were palms: the tops had been hacked off to accommodate the low roof, leaving only a few limp, plastic leaves hanging at odd angles.

The second level of the building followed the grey colour-scheme of the street outside. It was almost a relief after the creepiness of the lobby, but the tight, twisting hallways and claustrophobically low ceilings made Villa's chest squeeze.

Worse, because things could always be worse, the numbering system was all back-to-front. You'd think room 104 would be near the stairs, but the doors started with the highest numbers and worked their way backwards.

"It probably is a trap," Vila muttered as he counted down the doors. "Something horrible is going to happen. I can just feel it. And will any of them care? Not a chance." He raised his bracelet. "Avon, I'm in."

"Then get on with it," came the gruff reply.

Vila swallowed. There were no guards in the hallway. Door 104 looked completely innocent. Vila fingered the key he'd been given. Locked doors weren't nearly as much fun with an official way of opening them. He slid a pick out of his boot and set to work.

 

-

 

The lock was easy, but satisfying. Vila pulled it open far enough to grab some loose wires and then – carefully – fed them back around to make a scramble circuit. "Easy, easy," he whispered as he jiggled the wires until they found the right voltage to short the motor without triggering an alarm. The lock popped open with a soft click. "There you go, little darling."

Grinning, he pushed open the door. Two second later, he had a gun at his head.

The pick clattered against the floor as he dropped it. "I'm innocent!" Vila shouted. "Completely. Just ask those two very nice, slightly unnerving men down at the front. I was sent up on purpose to see if the door was secure, and obviously it isn't. Any person who can do an improvised Arduino pick can walk right in."

"Is that so," said the person holding the gun, stepping around into Vila's line of view while keeping the barrel of the weapon still firmly pressed against the side of his head. Vila hadn't thought it possible, but he was suddenly even more terrified than before. Terrified enough that it went right through the symptoms of shaking, anxiety, cold sweats etc. and back to something that almost bordered on calm.

She wore white, as usual: a pair of cotton, harem trousers paired with an ivory shirt with a low neckline and high shoulders. A delicate necklace with swirls of silver, jet, and mother-of-pearl rested between her breasts.

"Servalan," Vila said. "I'd ask what you were doing here, but I'm certain I wouldn't like the answer."

"That seems a very wise deduction." She took a step back, still keeping the gun trained on his head. "Are you travelling alone?"

Vila kept his mouth shut and tried, as discretely as possible, to tap Morse code into the receiver on his bracelet. Except he couldn't remember the difference between a dot and a dash, or any of it really. He kept his eyes straight, looking past Servalan. It was a simple hotel room with dappled grey walls and sturdy, white plastic furniture: a bed, a side table, a mirror in which Vila could see her back and his face. He didn't look as scared as he felt.

Servalan nodded at his bracelet. "I'll have that."

"Not very likely," Vila said. He abandoned caution and pressed down the vocal transmissions button. "Avon, Avon are you there?"

"You seem to forget who's holding the gun," said Servalan, tilting it slightly.

"It's very hard to forget, actually."

"I will shoot you, if you don't hand over the bracelets, _both of them_ , in five, four, three, two –"

Vila hastily uncuffed the bracelet from his wrist and then bent over to retrieve the one hidden around his ankle. Servalan took them, hit the button for deactivation, and placed them on the side table without changing the aim of her gun.

"And your weapon."

Vila unbuckled and handed over his _Liberator_ gun with even less protest. Servalan sat it beside the bracelets.

"Thank you. That wasn't so difficult." She smiled, like a cat who'd caught the canary _and_ the mouse _and_ got the cream, and sat on the bed, lounging backwards and looking comfortable. She rubbed the sheets between the thumb and fore-finger of her free hand.

"You were the one who made the distress call," he said.

Servalan continued smiling. "Naturally."

"I knew it was a trap," Vila muttered.

"A wide net. I'd hoped for better."

"So did my ulcer."

"As it happens, I wasn't expecting anyone from your little band of renegades. I was here on my own business." Servalan crossed her legs and switched from rubbing the sheets to tapping them gently. Vila thought she was crazy if there was any way she believed he would willingly _come hither_. Probably, she was only doing it to unnerve him. Vila doubted she'd welcome him if he actually went over and sat beside her. Not that he ever would.

"You may have noticed the local population are a bit peculiar," she said.

"I had noticed that, actually," Vila said. He'd been backing up as he spoke, hoping to make a run for it in the hallway, and was disconcerted to realize that the door had shut behind him without him noticing. The handle dug into the small of his back. Servalan continued talking, her voice light and friendly, her gun never lowering its aim:

"I came here with a small squadron to discuss certain, shall we say liberalities, the local government was taking with Federation rule."

"Let me guess, they didn't like your company? Can't think why not."

"I've let them know what the consequences of their actions will be. They seem unconcerned. They are obsessed with the archaic institute of marriage, but to an extreme degree. I hadn't counted on their absolute fundamentalism, or their disregard for basic privacy and liberty. It is utterly against everything the Federation stands for."

Vila stared at her, wondering if she meant that statement as ironic, but she seemed earnest. He couldn't figure her out. She was intelligent, she had to know how she sounded. She smiled again. She looked unsettlingly like Avon when she did that.

"I know what you think of the Federation's stance on personal freedoms," she said, before Vila could deploy his half-formed comeback, "but as a criminal convicted of habitually intruding on and stealing from the private properties of others, I think you have little ground to argue semantics."

"What do you want?" Vila asked. "You sent that signal on unofficial channels, pretending to be someone you're not."

"I was looking for a husband," Servalan said.

Vila sputtered. "You what?"

"Or a wife – in that respect, this planet is surprisingly open-minded. My ship landed for negotiations with the planet's government. When it became clear that I did not have a life partner in my immediate vicinity I was arrested. I suppose if I did have a spouse back on Earth I would have been executed for what they call "locational adultery", but as I am unattached they instead decided to detain me until I could resolve the situation. At which point they will allow me to leave without question."

"And you'll open fire on the surface as soon as you reach orbit, I expect," Vila said.

"Imprisoning high ranking visiting officials on the basis of local superstition cannot be tolerated," she said, injecting the words with more shocked innocence than Vila thought was really necessary.

"No wonder the locals aren't lining up. Did all of your crew refuse to do the deed?"

"The mutiods were, thankfully, not counted as suitable. Though the alternative presenting itself isn't much better."

"Now wait just a moment," Vila said as the coin dropped and he realized the horrible, horrible truth. "I'm not marriageable material."

"I'm apt to agree, but needs must."

Vila worked at the door handle behind his back. Locked. Of course. He'd opened it before – but, he'd been able to face it then and had his equipment: Jiggling frantically while trying to look innocent wasn't half so likely to work, even for a skilled thief.

"You still haven't answered the question about the message," he said. "You could've sent straight to the Federation for a rescue unless… you aren't supposed to be here, are you? Running a bit on the side?"

"This is an official mission, but it would be better if this particular incident didn't appear on my record. I have ambitions, Vila, which would not be well served if every tiny mistake I made needed to be broadcast to the Council for analysis. I am instead efficiently solving a problem using locally available resources. A laudable skill in any Commander."

"Unless you happen to be the locally available resource," said Vila.

Servalan pushed herself back to her feet and took a step towards him. If it hadn't been for the locked door and wall, Vila would've taken a step back. Instead, he concentrated on ineffectually rattling the door handle.

"It will be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Without a spouse, the locals will not let _you_ leave this planet either."

"The _Liberator_ is in orbit. When I don't call in, they'll come down and save me."

"Will they?"

"Yes!" Vila shouted.

"Without co-ordinates?" Servalan asked.

"They know I'm in this hotel, in this very room. _You_ gave them that information."

"But you're not going to be here for very much longer."

She pressed close against him so that he could feel her curves and the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her clothes. The gun nuzzled in the crook of his neck. She reached across his body with her free hand to access an intercom on the wall beside the door.

"We are ready for the wedding," she said.

"No we aren't!" Vila shouted, but her finger was already off the button. She'd raised her free hand to card through his hair for a moment before drifting down the side of his neck, his face, his chest, before reaching around to grasp his sweaty palm and pull it away from the door handle.

She smiled her viper smile and whispered in his ear:

"You keep acting as if you have a choice."


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the teleport faded out and Jenna found herself standing outside, squinting. Eye-searing neon yellow fields stretched away to the horizon under a cobalt sky. The sun, at its full noon zenith, was very warm on Jenna's form-fitting, green flight suit. She thought it must be even warmer on Blake's navy cardigan and tawny leather vest. Rugged clothing, for rugged terrain – but the location they'd landed in was unremittingly flat in every direction.

"I thought the rendezvous point was in a canyon," Jenna said.

Blake rubbed his lower lip with the back of two fingers, his own eyes creasing against the glare. "The coordinates must be slightly out."

"More than slightly," Jenna said. She brought her bracelet to her mouth. "Avon, come in. We need a location fix."

There was no reply. Wind rustled the vibrant croplands. Insects whined.

"Off-station?' Jenna asked.

Blake shook his head, his fingers still unconsciously circling around his chin. "He's running an orbital patch through Orac, but if the _Liberator_ is on the other side with Vila there may be some delays."

Jenna's bracelet crackled and Avon's voice came through: "More delays when I am forced to listen to his idle whining. I hope that your reason for calling is more relevant."

"We've come down wrong," Blake said into his bracelet. "Give us a location fix."

Through the speaker grill, Blake could hear the far-off hum of the _Liberator's_ systems, and the sound of Avon flipping switches to find the required information. "You are twenty-three feet due east of the rendezvous point," Avon said. "It is a large hole in the ground. I trust you not to fall into it."

"Yes, _thank you_ , Avon," Blake said. He switched off communications and turned slowly to face east. Jenna stood beside him.

"I don't see anything either," she said.

Blake huffed and pushed forward. The yellow flowers thwacked against his trouser legs and dark leather boots. Jenna tailed him, keeping her eyes down, scanning the ground for pitfalls. When Blake stopped suddenly, she nearly went into the back of him.

"Well hidden," Jenna commented, gazing into the gorge. The canyon was narrow and steep sided, and, with the yellow flowers growing up nearly to its lip, almost invisible until you stood directly beside it. Its bottom was a jagged wonderland of bizarre geologic formations, thorn bushes, and the muddy summer remnants of a seasonal waterway.

"Let's hope it's been enough to keep them off Federation radar," Blake said, gingerly lowering himself over the edge. There was a rudimentary path hacked into the cliff side leading down, but its appearance – crumbling and covered with loose scree – was not reassuring. Jenna let Blake gain a safe distance before making her way behind him. They clambered down in silence. Several stressful moments later, they reached bottom. No one was waiting. Swarms of biting midges buzzed over the muddy river bed. It was chiller than up top and the air smelt of damp earth.

Jenna sat on a young hoodoo formation in the shade of the cliff wall. Blake paced, occasionally chewing on his knuckles, or stopping to check his gun. He wasn't anxious about the meeting, Jenna knew that: he was impatient, _burning_ with energy and frustration for all of the things he could be/should be doing right then and there to help forward the Rebellion. Until the Federation fell, he wouldn't rest, and even this enforced moment of stillness, waiting for contacts, grated on him.

"Do you think it was wise having Vila go after Navar on his own?" Jenna asked as a distraction.

"Vila is competent," Blake said.

"At dropping his gun and breaking into the Soma cabinet," Jenna said, checking her own weapon.

"He went willingly."

Did he? Jenna wondered. But she didn't say anything out loud. Blake was still trying to make amends over Gan's loss. Setting him off onto another spat of self-doubt wouldn't do any good. Besides, coward though he was, Vila did have a choice. They all did. Cally and Avon had both stated their firm nos. He could have done the same.

"All the same, I would have preferred Cally," she said.

"I couldn't," said Blake, in a tone which told Jenna that he agreed. "I told her when she joined that she would be allowed to continue her traditions on board. If I were to deny her completing her remembrance ceremony then how am I any better than –"

Rustling in a nearby stand of thorn bushes caught both their attentions. Blake stopped speaking. A pair of lithe women in dull grey tracksuits were making their way through the undergrowth. They each had a squat black weapon of an unfamiliar design fastened to their belts. Jenna stood. Blake straightened his posture and extended a hand.

"Roj Blake," he said.

"Anis Vela," said the taller of the two women. She had short-cropped blonde hair and a narrow nose. She motioned at her partner who was dark haired and square-jawed. "This is Telaan Vela."

Jenna did not offer her hand. She kept it close by her side, ready to fire if need be. The women looked harmless, but looks meant nothing. They were armed and unknown.

"Jenna Stannis. Are you related?"

Telaan frowned. "Partnered. Your last names are different?"

"We've come about the Rebellion here on Trinomy," said Blake, redirecting the conversation to business.

"The government has been in negotiation with the Federation," said Anis. "There was a meeting scheduled. Our group went into hiding, not knowing what would result."

Telaan laid her hand on Anis' shoulder and spoke with halting optimism: "I think it will be favourable. The government is learning how the Federation disrespects our values. I think they were in disbelief before. Now they will never co-operate."

"It doesn't matter if they co-operate or not," Blake said. "The Federation doesn't negotiate. It _takes_ what it wants, and if it has decided that it wants this world –" He left the sentence hanging ominously.

"Does your government have any orbital defences?" Jenna asked. "Any fighter ships? Anything that could be used to ward off the Federation's attacks?"

"Come back to base," said Anis, shrugging off her partner's hand. "This must be discussed in greater value, because you are correct. Winning the government's approval was our fight, but fending off the Federation will require more. Trinomy is a peaceful world. Most of our weapons can do little more than stun." She drew her strange, black side arm and showed it to Jenna by example.

"When we make our stand," Telaan said, her eyes wide and pleading, "can we count on you to protect us?"

 

-

 

The rebel base took the form of a shallow tunnel system dug into the canyon wall. It had obviously been constructed in haste ahead of the Federation's visit. Heaps of unused support beams and uncleared rubble lay about in corners and at the end of unfinished shafts. Still, it was reasonably well-appointed, having a small communications centre, basic infirmary, communal sanitation facilities, dorms, supply stores, and a meeting/mess hall big enough to accommodate the thirty-odd couples who made up the rebellion. All wore the same dull grey tracksuits.

Anis and Telaan gave Jenna and Blake a brief tour of the amenities before leading them to an office off the side of the communications centre. The walls were chiselled rock and the ceiling was uncomfortably low. The only decoration was a large white planter containing a bizarre assortment of plastic greenery. A man and a woman sat together on sand-sack chairs behind a long slab of grey wood balanced between twin pile of concrete cinder blocks. Despite their rough surroundings and drab uniforms the couple radiated competence and authority. The man was thin and balding with narrow, questioning eyes. The woman had an unusually dark complexion in comparison to the other locals. Her hands were intertwined in front of her on the desk. The left hand was missing fingers.

"Pellon and Delt Gavan," said Anis, introducing the couple without giving any indication of which was which, though Jenna knew from the transmissions the _Liberator_ had received before coming to Trinomy, and Orac's intelligence, that Delt was the man and Pellon the woman. Having given the names, Anis and Telaan positioned themselves on either side of the office's door.

Blake introduced himself. "Roj Blake, and my pilot, Jenna Stannis."

"Pilot?" asked Delt.

Blake ignored the question and went straight to the reason for the meeting. "We've come to discuss building up Trinomy's defences against the Federation. In order to do so we will require information on what your current armaments are, how many people you have, etc. I can help you to put up a fight, if it comes to that, but I have only one ship. Trinomy will have to learn to defend itself if it is to stay free."

Delt's eyes shifted under their lids, looking back and forth between Blake and Jenna. It was obvious that he didn't trust them. "I've heard rumours," he said, "of planets pledging their lot to the Resistance, of having their best men and women drafted away to fight against the Federation off-world, only to be abandoned when the fight comes to their home soil. What assurance can you give that this will not happen to us?"

Delt glanced at Pellon. She nodded firmly and he continued. "You are, as you say, only one ship."

"I cannot say that the path of independence is easy. Nor can I guarantee that Trinomy will be successful in its fight," Blake said, turning his charisma on full strength. He leaned over Delt and Pellon's make-shift desk, his voice taut with barely constrained fervency. "I _can_ tell you that those rumours are rumours only. Federation propaganda. The Resistance does not abandon its own. As proof of this I can tell you that one of my men is currently engaged in freeing your commander Els Navar from Federation house arrest. We do what we can, where we can. We are here _to help_."

Blake emphasized his last sentence by slamming his open palm down on the desktop.

Delt and Pellon turned to each other. They had quizzical expressions. Jenna thought for a moment that they were taken aback by Blake's intensity. Then Pellon shrugged and Jenna realized that they were both intensely confused. They turned back to face Jenna and Blake.

"We have no such man in our group," Pellon said.

Jenna read Blake's quickly masked emotions, they reflected her own: _fear, a trap, Gan buried under rubble_. Blake spoke slowly, ensuring that there had been no mistake: "We received the message yesterday as we came into orbit. A high ranking member of your rebellion had been imprisoned by the Federation as a hostage during their negotiations. They were slated for execution –"

"No," said Delt, firmly. "Nothing of the sort has happened. According to our communications centre a _Federation_ official has been taken into custody for walking, unpartnered, into a space of governance. We can enforce our own laws here on Trinomy, and now the Federation knows this, and knows that we must be respected!"

Anis and Telaan made a slight, proud noise at this. Pellon steepled together her mangled hands and looked pleased at her partner's speech.

" _Vila_ ," Jenna said. Blake nodded. She lifted her bracelet to her mouth, but nothing came out of it but static. "No signal. Damn these tunnels. Blake, we need to go."

"You go. I'll stay here and finish negotiations."

Pellon abruptly unlaced her fingers and stood up. "You would separate?"

Her voice was low, dangerous. Delt shook his head slightly.

"It would be more efficient," said Blake.

"And your man, the one on this supposed rescue mission. Is he _alone_?" Pellon asked.

"It wasn't our first choice," said Blake, "but there was no one else available to –"

"Blake! Down!" Jenna shouted. Blake dodged just in time to escape a stun bolt from Anis' weapon.

"What is this?" Blake asked in outrage. Jenna drew her weapon and aimed in on Anis and Telaan. They didn't seem frightened by it. Perhaps they'd never dealt with weapons that could inflict actual damage before. That made them unpredictable.

"You are not partnered! Delt said, his voice trembling. "You dare come before us, offering help, offering aid, when you are yourself so lacking?"

"I don't see being single as being any indictment on my worth as a human being," said Blake. Calm, rational.

"Blasphemy!" shouted Pellon. "You _will_ be partnered. You _will_ learn."

Telaan pulled the trigger on her stun weapon before Jenna could react. Blake staggered. Collapsed. Jenna fired. Both of their former guides went down. Pellon and Delt screamed. Jenna rounded and put them down as well before kneeling to tend to Blake. He was conscious, but thoroughly dazed and gasping.

"Can you stand?" Jenna asked.

Blake blinked several times, his eyes tracking poorly over Jenna. She was about to repeat the question when he hefted himself to his feet. He stumbled and Jenna wedged herself under his arm for support.

"We need to get out of these tunnels, back to the _Liberator_ ," she said.

Blake looked at the slumped forms at the desk and blocking the doorway. "Jenna," he said ponderously, as if he couldn't quite remember how to get his tongue around the words, "they _weren't armed_."

"Not now," she said, leading him out of the office. There were more rebels in the communications centre. Jenna fired more shots. Blake tried to paw her gun away, to stop her, but Jenna shook him off and continued, doing her best to ignore his horror at her actions.

The shallowness of the tunnel system was in their favour. Jenna and Blake burst into the cool daylight of the canyon floor a few frantic minutes later. Jenna pulled them both behind a crumpled pillar of blasted sandstone. A poor hiding place.

There were angry voices coming from the rebel base. Jenna had shot close to a dozen people on the way out, but there were still nearly fifty angry men and women ready to come after them. Blake was slowly recovering from the stun weapon, but he could still barely keep his eyes uncrossed, let alone climb the treacherous path out of the canyon. Jenna hoped that getting out of the tunnel system would be enough to allow signals through to their bracelets.

She raised the speaker grill to her mouth and switched on communications. "Avon, Jenna. Teleport us both, _now_."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for trope bingo: Marriage.


End file.
